Forever Pucked (Pucked 4)

“She had a few while she was in there,” Lily informs us.

Violet passes out the shooters and makes us all toast to vacations and cock love. Thankfully, in Vegas our behavior doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. We stroll the Strip, sipping on drinks and baking in the hot sun, stopping in at the occasional casino to cool off and gamble. At first Violet will only play the nickel slots, but then I coerce her into sitting down at a blackjack table, and she wins two thousand dollars.

On the way back, Sunny has to pee, and the closest place is a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel. All the girls decide to go with her, as always seems to be the way.

I check my phone while we’re waiting. I’ve been avoiding the buzzing in my pocket all day because I want to enjoy this time away. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. And it’s a lot different with my fiancée and my friends than it was when I was a rookie.

“Shit.” I have twenty new messages from my mom.

“What’s going on?” Darren asks.

“It’s the never-ending guest list additions.”

“Someone needs to cut those women off,” Miller says.

“What women?” Lance perks up.

I gesture between Miller and me. “Our mothers. This whole wedding would be a lot simpler if they would stop interfering.”

“You could solve the whole problem right now if you wanted.” Randy motions to the flashing Twenty-Four-Hour Wedding sign above our heads.

I laugh, because obviously it’s a joke.

“I actually thought that might’ve been the reason you wanted us all to come along.” Miller stuffs his hands in his pockets. “They’re gonna do the same thing with Sunny. We already know that. It’s another reason to wait until after the baby.”

The girls come tripping out of the chapel. Well, Violet’s tripping, the rest of them are giggling. “The cutest couple in the world is getting married by Elvis.” She falls into my arms. “We should get married by Elvis. Actually, I think there’s a choice between Elvis and Marilyn Monroe, or maybe it’s Gwen Stefani.”

For a few seconds I think she’s serious, and I’m actually considering it.

Then she burps wine cooler in my face.

“I’m hungry. Is anyone else hungry? Can we go eat?”

We find a restaurant close by, and I load Violet up on carbs and water so she’s not a sloppy mess.

At some point before the food comes, Randy excuses himself to the bathroom, and Lily follows right after. They come back fifteen minutes later, together. Lily’s cheeks are flushed, and her eyes have that glazed look about them.

Violet points at Randy’s face. “You’ve got vagina in your beard, Balls.”

Randy strokes his beard self-consciously.

“Not possible,” Lily says. “He wasn’t eating at the Vagina Emporium; I was having a snack at the Moody Dick Café.”

The girls burst into a fit of giggles. Randy smirks.

“Is that a euphemism for a blow job?” Lance asks.

“Ding, ding, ding! Give Romance a prize!” Charlene shouts. She needs more water, too.

“I’mma order some cookies for dessert when we get back to our room,” Miller says to Sunny.

There’s more ridiculous giggling.

We get a limo back to the hotel when dinner is over. Lance doesn’t bother coming up to the suite. I almost feel bad, because the rest of us are likely to shower and have sex. I have my doubts Sunny will be doing anything after that aside from sleeping. She looks ready to pass out. I’m sure the rest of us will find a second or third wind.

After a long shower, which includes more sex, Violet and I lie down on the bed, possibly to go to sleep, possibly for another round. She snuggles in and puts her head on my chest.

“I’m so glad you suggested a vacation,” she says.

“You were so hard to convince.”

I draw circles on her shoulder, working my way down her side. She jerks when I hit the sensitive spot by her ribs. Then she sighs as I go lower, to her hip. My phone buzzes in my pants somewhere on the floor. I should’ve turned it off.

“Your mom messaged me again.” I can hear her anxiety.

“Well, we are in Vegas; maybe we should elope.”

Violet lifts her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

I tuck strands of wet hair behind her ear and trace the line of her jaw. “I don’t have to be.”

“I don’t have a dress.”

I follow the contour of her bottom lip with my thumb. Jesus, I love this woman. “We can buy you one.”

“You’re serious?”

I kiss her softly, not inviting any tongue even though she parts her lips. “Marry me.”

“I already said yes to that.”

“This weekend. Tomorrow. Be my wife. Be Violet Waters. Be mine.”

“I’m already yours, Alex. I’ve been yours since the moment you slammed into the plexiglas and made me spill my beer on my boobs.”

“So let’s do it. We’re here. There are a million places we can go. We can even find somewhere nice, classy—it doesn’t have to be done by Elvis.”